


Such Selfish Prayers

by hardlyinhightown



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Other, so basically pwp with some fun banter and teeth-rotting fluff, soft nsfw, two nerds travel to nopal and bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 18:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17872400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyinhightown/pseuds/hardlyinhightown
Summary: Dolores drops her bag on the floor and leisurely walks into Asra’s arms. She doesn’t stop until their noses are almost touching, and by then Asra’s noticed her badly suppressed but still unbelievably self-satisfied smile. “What?”She teeters on the edge of averting her gaze – like some blushing maiden, ridiculous – before looking him right in the eyes. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”–Asra and Dolores go together and come together.





	Such Selfish Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> The Arcana discord channel is a bunch of enabling little devils who encourage me to write stuff and things. This is just the latest one.
> 
> Dolores is my apprentice who's personality I'm eager to expand by writing as I feel the game's dialogue options didn't quite do her justice. Ergo, I'm writing lots of dialogue into this pwp. If you find any grammar mistakes that I've missed, please let me know!

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The remnants of summer still linger in Vesuvia and, presumably, Nopal.

“Why don’t we find out ourselves?” Asra suggests one morning. Dolores is making iced tea again; she’s completely over being hot and sweaty every day and even more so every night, even if the nights have been cooler now that the summer’s passing. Then again, Asra is basically a human-shaped furnace and Dolores’ hands and feet are always cold anyway. They even each other out.

They pack their bags – not much to pack, Dolores figures, seeing that she’s wearing as little as possible while still remaining somewhat decent – and head out in the evening, when the sun hasn’t quite started setting but the winds from the sea are already creeping along the Vesuvia streets. They’ll be late, but it’s better to travel at night. When the sun sets, it’s cool enough to hold hands, and Dolores swings Asra’s hand as they walk. They only stop to pick flowers, and she makes him a flower crown as they cross the fields. Faust keeps slithering off among the tall grass.

The moon hangs high in the night sky when they arrive at Asra’s cottage. The air smells of lavenders and warm sand, and a handful of fireflies swirls lazily away from them as they approach. The door creaks softly as Asra swings it open and lets them both and a couple of stray fireflies in. Faust slips down Asra’s leg and makes her way under a dresser with a soft, content hiss.

“So,” Dolores says. She’s very aware of how sweaty and frazzled she must look, and suddenly she feels almost shy. Of course, the best way to deal with that is rambling. “Are you hungry? I brought dates. Candied ones, from that one-armed lady in the market.”

Asra, being used to traveling on foot or perhaps just due to his undeniable ethereal Asra-ness, hasn’t even appeared to have broken a sweat. He sets his bag down on the floor and leans on the wall, right next to the doorway to the bedroom.

Dolores can’t look away. “So… no dates?”

Asra smiles, just a touch cheekily. “I thought that’s what this is.”

That makes her laugh. “I thought so, too.”

Asra’s smile softens, and he extends his arms. “Come here.”

Dolores drops her bag on the floor and leisurely walks into Asra’s arms. She doesn’t stop until their noses are almost touching, and by then Asra’s noticed her badly suppressed but still unbelievably self-satisfied smile. “What?”

She teeters on the edge of averting her gaze – like some blushing maiden, ridiculous – before looking him right in the eyes. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Asra laughs, throws his head back even, but Dolores doesn’t miss his hand sliding from her back to her thigh. “You’re unbelievable!”

“You’re one to talk,” she counters, lacing her fingers with his. Asra’s laugh drowns in her mouth when she kisses him, and he hikes up the hem of her dress, proving that whatever she is, she’s not a liar. He drops it for the moment when she presses him against the wall properly and kisses his neck, just on the edge of the collar of his shirt. He loses the shirt pretty fast after that, and the pants are left in a messy heap on the floor after Dolores bends down to briefly kiss his stomach, too.

Dolores’ last proper thought is of which Arcana she should thank for the idea of skipping the underwear that morning before she lets Asra pull off her dress. The small, stubbornly nervous part of her mind threatens to catch up with her for a second when the dress gets caught on her earrings, and there’s a moment during which she worries about her hair that stands in a messy halo around her head and her cold hands and oh no, what are you actually supposed to do with your tongue, what if she’s actually a terrible kisser –

And then Asra manages to extract her dress from around her head and kisses her again, hands cupping her jaw gently, and Dolores doesn’t think any longer. She pushes Asra towards the bed, letting him be distracted by his tongue in her mouth and trying so very hard to not be distracted by it herself, until the backs of his legs meet the edge of the unmade bed and he falls on it, hands grabbing at air but missing her completely. He laughs breathlessly, peering at her in the dim light before his eyes shift to look for the lantern he keeps at the bedside.

“Asra?” Dolores says.

“Hmm?” He turns to look at her over his bare shoulder, and she discovers that maybe she was distracted, too, after all, because for the moment she can’t string together enough words to tell him to leave the lantern and focus on her and, more importantly, let her focus on him instead of waiting even a second longer. The moon above them provides just enough light for them to see each other, and it colors Asra’s skin silvery and soft and reflects on his eyes.

Dolores figures that sentences longer than three words have completely failed her, so she climbs on the bed and straddles his hips. A soft sigh escapes Asra’s lips and then he’s looking at her, all thoughts of lanterns forgotten. His hand finds her hip and squeezes gently as she rocks back and forth, testing them both. Gods, she’s ready, has been from the moment he led her out the door back in Vesuvia. His hand runs up and down her thigh, slow and light as a feather.

“You alright?” Dolores breathes out.

Moonlight clings to Asra’s eyelashes when he smiles. “Never better. You?”

“Peachy.”

He laughs softly and sweetly, and his hand slips across her inner thigh to help guide him into her as she sinks to meet him. It takes a moment for her to adjust, but she always does. Asra waits patiently, like he always does.

He once told her that she doesn’t have to be gentle with him, but she can’t help it. He’s the most tender person she knows, and he deserves nothing less than all the love that she has to offer, that she now dips in moonlight and wraps in the white cotton sheets that smell like lavender.

Asra’s eyes are pools of adoration, and his fingertips settle on her hips to follow her movements as she starts setting the pace, slow and thorough at first. Her hands don’t know where to go at first; they roam his chest and stomach before settling on his thighs behind her back. She leans backwards, and he tugs at her hips and makes her gasp with this slight shift in the angle she didn’t even notice him aiming for. His right hand leaves her hip, slides over her stomach and finds its place between her legs, and she moans properly now, even though she didn’t mean to. She covers her mouth with her hand out of habit, eyes trailing the corners of the ceiling; the walls in their shop are thinner than either of them knew at first, which has led to the habit of keeping quiet.

“Dolores,” Asra says softly, voice shaking just a little, “you can let it go.”

His clever magician’s fingers are doing something absolutely wonderful between her legs and her rhythm is getting erratic and he sounds way too coherent compared to how she feels, and she can’t have that.

“What do you want?” she manages, her voice crackling like firewood.

“You,” he replies simply and she right about melts. Her hips keep on rolling against him but she leans forward and kisses his chest because she can’t reach his face, and he buries his hand in her hair, fingers drawing circles among the loose strands.

“Let’s switch. Can we switch?” Dolores asks, mouth against his collarbone.

“Yes,” Asra replies, and she inhales and moves off of him, falling on the mattress like a sack of potatoes and feeling exceptionally empty. The feeling only lasts for a second before Asra’s hovering over her, and she kisses him, bites his lip gently for good measure, too.

“I missed you there for a second.”

Asra’s laughing as he enters her again.

Oh, this is better. Dolores’ back arches with the first thrust, and Asra draws his mouth across her throat with the slightest scrape of teeth. Her hands are following his spine up and down and she can’t hold back any sounds, sighs and moans, and Asra’s lips graze against her throat as he whispers something she doesn’t quite catch before moving across her collarbone. The approaching edge is one she doesn’t want to back away from; she pulls Asra up from where he’s started worrying on her shoulder with his teeth, and under his twinkling eyes she reaches her orgasm and tips over the edge with a mixture of a sigh, a moan and a formless word that might have once been his name.

When she regains her senses, he’s still rocking back and forth, and she brushes his hair off his forehead and reaches behind him to drag him closer by his ass until he buries his face in her neck and comes quietly, shoulders shaking. Dolores cards her fingers through his hair, stares at the ceiling and wonders which particular Arcana blessed her so.

Asra’s lying on top of her like a ragdoll, hips still twitching ever so slightly, but the look he gives her when he lifts his head is so worth it. He doesn’t seem to have any intentions of moving and she doesn’t intend to make him.

“You’re breathtaking,” Asra says quietly.

“You’re pretty breathtaking, too,” Dolores replies. She could count Asra’s eyelashes if she wanted to. “And amazing in bed.”

The corners of Asra’s eyes crinkle when he smiles.

 

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**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna find me elsewhere and tell me about your apprentices, I'm @electricitytrick on tumblr.


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